


odi il tuon della vendetta

by ernestdummkompf (JehanFerres)



Category: Don Giovanni - Mozart/Da Ponte, Opera
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Animal Attack, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, F/M, Friendship/Love, Kidnapping, M/M, giovanni spends his entire life doing stupid things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 10:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JehanFerres/pseuds/ernestdummkompf
Summary: the unimpressed father of one of don giovanni's "conquests" decides to exact revenge.





	odi il tuon della vendetta

**Author's Note:**

> there's a lot of People Bleeding in this fic, because giovanni doesn't think about the consequences of his actions. anyway leporello? ultimate good boy. (btw i'm working on chapter 4 of holy city it's just coming together Really Slowly.)

Giovanni loved small, anonymous port towns more than practically anywhere else, with the exception of home. There was always cheap booze and food to be had, women and, if he felt so inclined – which he nearly always did – young men who would be receptive to his advances.

That was usual.

This town, on the other hand, was anything _but_ usual.

It had been storming for the past ten or so days, and he had Leporello had been sequestered in a room in an inn for the whole time. Unusually, Giovanni still had much of his usual supply of patience for Leporello still left, and it was Leporello who had snapped and wandered off into the rain and wind. He hadn’t even lasted two minutes outdoors, and then stomped back in, shivering and soaking wet with his hair plastered to his face by the rain.

Giovanni was already in bed when Leporello returned, and usually he would have been annoyed at having to relinquish half the bed when he was already there, but the sight of Leporello looking like a drowned rat after he had gone off in a huff was amusing to him. He watched Leporello for a moment, and then moved over when Leporello sat down on the bed beside him.

Giovanni was in a good enough mood, having managed to find some young woman in a tavern that evening who had not so much invited him back home as allowed him to invite himself. He had left her as soon as he had finished with her, of course, and he had returned in extremely high spirits. Leporello had another name for his list, and Giovanni had managed to stave off the feeling of death coming for him for another day.

They had been travelling for some days before they had arrived in the town, though, trying to get back to Spain from Turkey (and already _so_ nearly there – they were back in Spain, but not able to get any further), and Leporello and Giovanni were both certain that they would sleep well for it. Giovanni had been in danger of dozing off right from when Leporello had left, and with Leporello back and safe and in a slightly better mood he felt like he _could_ go to sleep.

Leporello was already using Giovanni to leech his body heat from, and although Giovanni _usually_ professed to hate being touched – especially by people he had just slept with (not that this currently applied to Leporello) – he found that he liked it. Giovanni had always been physically (although not emotionally) warm, and Leporello had always been keen to take advantage of that fact. And for his part, Giovanni liked the sort of attention and affection that he got from Leporello.

Giovanni was just starting to drift off to sleep, with Leporello’s head buried in the crook of his shoulder and with his hair dripping rainwater onto his master’s chest when he became suddenly aware of noise outside the room. For a second, he thought it was just that he had picked _another_ inn with a leaking roof and simply made a mental note to tell Leporello off for causing him to do this (even though he logically knew that Leporello wasn’t really to _blame_ for his master’s poor choices). He was completely content with this explanation for a few moments, for before he then heard the muffled but distinct sound of a large dog, barking softly and then growling.

Pushing Leporello off him, he sat up and listened. Nothing for a few minutes, until, again, he heard the scrabbling of dog claws on the flooring, followed by a less muffled bark. He listened again, wondering if it was just a loose dog that was wandering around the inn, but the innkeeper hadn’t seemed to have a dog, and he hadn’t seen any all day, apart from when he was leaving the home of the young woman. He supposed a stray dog wasn’t necessarily _impossible_ , but he couldn’t see how one could have got in, or how it could have got all the way up here without being apprehended and turned out again.

He didn’t like it one bit.

At a loss for what else to do, he leaned across and shook Leporello awake, immediately putting his hand over his manservant’s mouth when he tried to speak. Leporello sat up, and Giovanni leaned close to his ear to whisper to him. “Listen.” Leporello twitched slightly, clearly not best pleased to have been woken. “Can you hear something out there?”

“You’re paranoid,” Leporello grumbled, but he would have done almost anything for a quiet life and a full night of sleep, so he listened anyway. Giovanni kept hold of Leporello’s shoulder with one hand and indicated the door with his head. The tapping of claws near the door began again, and Giovanni felt Leporello tense slightly beside him. “There’s somebody there.”

Now Giovanni thought that _Leporello_ was paranoid, because he was sure that all he could hear was a dog. It barked again, and Leporello jumped. Giovanni could feel him shaking slightly and put his arm around him, the tips of his fingers brushing against Leporello’s hip. “Quiet.” Giovanni knew that Leporello was just as sensitive, if not more so, to noise as he was, so he was keener than before to continue to listen.

The hallway outside was silent for a few more seconds and Giovanni began to relax and put it down to just a stray dog and he and Leporello being stupid about it until there was another bark, followed by the sound of human footsteps. Giovanni didn’t know what he was afraid of, but he _knew_ with absolute certainty that there was something wrong, and he knew that Leporello was thinking the same thing.

The dog was growling again now, and Giovanni was standing up on his knees and ready to jump up. His sword was just out within his reach on a chair beside the bed, and a gun was in the bag that Leporello had stored on his side of the bed, which also contained the catalogue and Leporello’s clean clothes. Giovanni reached over, and the very tips of his fingers just brushed the handle of the sword when he heard a man’s voice outside.

He couldn’t quite make out what the man was saying – it was in a vernacular of Spanish and combined with the fact that he was speaking quietly so as not to rouse anybody who might be sleeping he may as well have been speaking in ancient Greek for all Giovanni understood – but he could just about understand certain words. “ _Betrayal_ ”, “ _daughter_ ”. A brief pause, during which nothing made any sense but still sounded foreboding.

“ _Kill him_.”

Once again, Giovanni’s instincts had been right. This precise combination of words could surely only apply to him, given his habits, and now, as he had suspected, he and Leporello were in danger. He had the sword now and he was vaguely aware of Leporello reaching down for the gun as the man continued to talk. Neither Leporello nor Giovanni had any idea what the man was saying now – they had both heard more than enough – but they were both listening to try to figure out how many people there were there.

After a few seconds of Giovanni and Leporello both listening in silence, Leporello reached over and tapped Giovanni four times on the shoulder. Giovanni allowed Leporello to reach across and grab for his hand, but he quickly shook himself free when he heard the tone of whoever was speaking outside the door become increasingly aggressive.

The dog barked twice, growling and aggressive at full force and Giovanni’s mind was filled with the image of a terrifyingly large beast with a head full of countless teeth now that he had heard exactly how loud it was capable of being. He cursed the weather and he was completely sure that Leporello was cursing him for dragging him into this situation. It wasn’t the first time they had been in a situation like this, but usually it was just _one_ angry father or angry husband, not a whole mob.

Giovanni was ready to fight because he was _always_ ready to fight, but he knew that Leporello wasn’t. His eyes had started to adjust to the lack of light, and he could just about make out the slight tremble of Leporello’s hand as he held the gun when he chanced looking away from the door for a second. The door started to rattle, and Giovanni jumped up before Leporello had the chance to and opened the door, brandishing the sword.

He was immediately set upon by the dog – as he had imagined it was a large and toothy animal, that immediately grabbed onto any flesh it could find, bit down, and _shook_ its head from side to side. Giovanni felt his head thud back against the floor as it shook the side of his shoulder and his neck, and Giovanni was vaguely aware that his sword had been taken, and that was the last of his ability to defend himself gone before he was kicked in the side of the head hard enough for the whole room to start spinning.

He was barely conscious for a few more seconds but that was enough for Leporello to manage to get up the courage to aim the gun at the man who was now standing over him with the sword and fire. The bullet angled up through the man’s jaw and Leporello could have sworn that he saw him try to think what had just happened before he fell onto his knees, his forehead resting on the bed. Leporello kicked him over and got up just as the dog seemed to get bored of ripping his master to shreds.

Giovanni was still alive, but he was barely able to breathe, and his eyes were unfocused, blood dripping down onto the wooden floor of the bedroom. At a loss for what else to do, Leporello pushed his hand over the deepest and most bloody of the wounds, drawing a startling groan from Giovanni.

It felt like hours but was probably no more than twenty seconds before one of the men yanked Leporello up, and another picked up Giovanni, and Leporello was _completely_ convinced that this was it, they were both going to be buried in a shallow grave and forgotten. Maybe Giovanni deserved it, he was the licentious one, but Leporello was just his servant. Maybe he facilitated Giovanni’s immorality from time to time but for the most part Giovanni acted alone.

They were dragged down the stairs, Leporello managing to throw a punch into the face of the man practically carrying him as he was deposited on the ground outside the inn next to Giovanni. Giovanni was slumped over and shaking, his eyes closed, and for a moment Leporello thought he was unconscious. Then, the tip of Giovanni’s thumb brushed against the side of Leporello’s hand.

Leporello made a show of shaking him and trying to wake him up but Giovanni played along, and when his hands were pulled away and tied behind him Leporello felt warily confident that they might be able to get out of this without either of them dying. Giovanni would probably have some more scars on his neck and shoulder, but he had several scars anyway, some from duelling and some from angry women he had slept with and then betrayed. He seemed to think that they made him look distinguished.

The men who had taken them prisoner had made exactly the mistake that Leporello had been hoping they would. While Leporello was obviously conscious and able to fight back, Giovanni was sufficiently small and weak-looking without having also been knocked unconscious that most people wouldn’t take him for a threat even when he was in the best of health. When he had lost a considerable amount of blood thanks to a dog trying to main him and he was feigning unconsciousness, he looked so small and sickly that it was easily believable that he wouldn’t regain consciousness ever.

Leporello made a cursory effort to shake one of his captors off as he was loaded into the back of a small covered wagon and Giovanni was tossed in after him, but he knew that leaving Giovanni alone was as good as handing him down a death sentence. Leporello wouldn’t have been able to leave him, even if he had wanted to, not now.

Leporello couldn’t see through the door of the wagon, but he could hear that some of the men were leaving to go back home to sleep. Their part was done, and they were leaving Leporello and Giovanni with only the man who had been talking outside the door and the dog that had just nearly killed Giovanni for company. If Giovanni wasn’t clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, this would probably have been an advantage, but Leporello was sure that Giovanni wouldn’t live long if they tried to escape.

The wagon moved off abruptly, and Leporello’s head was thrown back, connecting painfully with one of the wooden struts supporting the fabric roof of the wagon. Leporello kept his eyes shut for a few moments because he thought that he would burst into tears if he tried to open them again, and then started trying to move his wrists in an attempt to escape the bounds.

His hands had been tied inexpertly behind his back in the dark, and he was completely sure that if he tried to hard enough he could wriggle out and try to help Giovanni. He could feel that the rope was slightly loose on one wrist, but he couldn’t quite visualise how he could turn this into the ropes releasing completely.

“Rub the ropes against the wood behind you ‘til it snaps.” Giovanni’s voice was weak, but the advice was sound in a way that suggested experience. Leporello carefully moved his hands around behind his back until what he already thought could have been a weak point in the rope was pressed against one of the wooden struts. After a couple of minutes, he was sure that the rope was weakened enough that if he just jerked his wrist out suddenly, he could probably free himself. That did it. His right wrist was completely freed from the rope, while his left hand was no longer being restrained by anything although there was still a rope tied around it.

He could go and help Giovanni now, or at least try to. Leporello helped Giovanni sit up and steadied him against his side when he started to sway slightly with the blood loss. Leporello pulled the last few inches of his sleeve down over his hand and pressed his hand firmly over the still-bleeding wound on Giovanni’s neck. It was only by luck that it had missed any of the major blood vessels, but Giovanni still sucked in a breath and tensed under him and Leporello could tell that it hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

Leporello’s face pressed close to Giovanni’s hair, partly so that he could keep his voice quiet but partly for mutual comfort, and Giovanni grabbed hold of his free hand. He was still conscious but Leporello suspected that he was mostly only conscious because of the pain, and Leporello could feel blood running down his arm and soaking through his sleeve. It was pure luck that only Giovanni was injured, but Leporello knew that he was far from being a doctor. At the same time, it was all he could do to just try to stop the bleeding.

“Leporello?” Giovanni’s voice was hoarse, and he was breathing in quick shallow gasps with his face buried against Leporello’s shirt. “That, next to you.” He jabbed his knee up against a stout piece of wood that had come loose somewhere. Leporello thought he followed. “Pull it behind you and keep your hands behind your back.”

At least one of them was thinking straight.

The blood was starting to dry stickily to the cuff of his shirt, and Leporello took that to be a positive sign. Even if it hadn’t yet stopped completely, the bleeding was slowing, but Leporello kept his hand against Giovanni’s neck, just reducing the pressure on his throat a little to make sure he could still breathe now that the immediate danger of him bleeding out had passed.

He still looked weak, but he was more alert, and his head wasn’t lolling quite so badly against Leporello’s side now. Leporello still knew that it was very unlikely that Giovanni would be able to defend himself if he needed to. Fortunately for him, though, Leporello was every bit as strong as his master even if he rarely seemed it, and he had a bludgeoning instrument.

“We’re slowing down.” Giovanni was still holding onto Leporello’s hand, but not with quite such a deathly grip, and he had stopped shaking quite so violently. Leporello had managed to staunch the bleeding almost entirely, so he set about slowly detaching his sleeve from the wound where it had partially stuck to the blood. Giovanni winced but tried to stay still.

Leporello moved back to where he had initially been thrown at the beginning of the journey, positioning his legs so that he would be immediately able to grab the piece of wood which he was now practically sitting on and leap up to hit the first person he saw over the head with it. He wasn’t sure what use this would be in the long run, but what he knew he needed to do was immediately protect himself and Giovanni. He could think about the consequences later.

The wagon began to draw to a stop on what Leporello assumed to be a bumpy country track, and when it finally stopped Leporello realised he could hear an owl screeching somewhere nearby. They were probably in woodland, and that presented its own problem.

The “door” to the covered portion of the wagon began to open and Giovanni, lying on his side facing Leporello, gestured for his manservant not to move until he was told to. Leporello had hold of the piece of wood by the narrower end, which had to be about an inch in diameter. It tapered out to about three inches in diameter at the other end: more than enough to cause lasting damage to anybody who happened to be on the wrong end of it.

The dog was in first, and Leporello, genuinely terrified of the animal because it was probably about as big and about as heavy as Giovanni (not that he was a particularly large man), immediately knocked it over the head with the piece of wood. It backed off, whining, and leaped out of the wagon. Leporello was on his feet now, slightly hunched over because the roof of the wagon was low, as the same man as had set the dog on Giovanni came into the wagon.

He didn’t seem to register Leporello or the piece of wood, instead immediately setting upon Giovanni with punches and kicks, and finally, when he had Giovanni on his back driving what looked like a massive butcher’s knife into the joint of his shoulder. He was a still target but Leporello was too terrified to be able to do anything of any use, dropping the piece of wood on the floor with a clatter and staring hopelessly. The man was gone as suddenly as he had arrived, and Leporello didn’t know whether to go after him or to stay and try to help Giovanni.

The danger of him bleeding to death was immediate again, and Leporello recognised that he had been stabbed somewhere to produce the greatest amount of pain. The blade of the knife was twisted between his clavicle and the bone of his arm and any movement would cause the bones to grate against the knife, and Leporello could see that the knife was rusted and probably already starting to sicken Giovanni.

Again, Leporello knelt beside him, pushed his head to the side to stop him from being able to see what he was doing. He held Giovanni’s shoulder still to stop him from moving away, and quickly yanked the knife out. He was immediately apologising the second the knife was free, not least because Giovanni screamed, literally _screamed_ with pain, curling in on his side facing towards Leporello.

“What did you _do_?!” Leporello was starting to panic now. He knew he could hear hoofbeats thundering off into the distance and the wagon wasn’t moving so clearly the man driving had cut the horse or horses free when he had left them, and he had never heard Giovanni do anything more than grumble when he was in pain (unless he had a slight cold, in which case he acted as though he was dying).

“I slept with his daughter,” Giovanni said groaning with pain and hugging himself.

“Christ.” Leporello buried his head in his hands. Of course he had. “Did you kill her afterwards?” he said sarcastically.

Giovanni gave him a surprisingly viciously angry look in response. “He just didn’t want me for a son-in-law,” he replied, his dripping sarcasm even though he was nearly crying with pain.

Giovanni was now badly injured enough that he wouldn’t let Leporello so much as touch him and Leporello was once again concerned about how severely he was injured. He certainly wouldn’t be able to walk back to the inn, and Leporello didn’t want to either, because he was shaken too. But Giovanni needed medical attention that hadn’t come from his manservant pulling a knife out of his shoulder.

Leporello reached for Giovanni’s hand, and he didn’t resist. They were both going to have to settle in for the rest of the night here at least, and then start trying to head home in the morning (or, more likely, in the afternoon).

Leporello’s hand slid under the side of Giovanni’s head while Giovanni hung onto his other hand. He let Giovanni drift off to sleep, but he had no intention of doing so himself.


End file.
